In His Eyes: A Civil War Romance

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “Hand me the child and get up.”

  That voice again. The stern one that held no room for argument. Like a good soldier, Ella relinquished her child and climbed to her feet. Did he seek to take the baby from her? She wouldn’t have really done him harm…she didn’t mean….

  The sobs broke free and then his arm was around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Be calm, Ella. You must be calm.”

  She gulped air and willed the sobs to stop, straining against them like a cracked dam against an entire ocean. Finally, with great effort, the hitching sobs subsided, only to be replaced by ragged breathing and silent streams of tears.

  A knock came at the door to the nursery. “Miss Ella?”

  Basil.

  “You needs help, Miss Ella?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, surprise when the major spoke instead. “I have her, Basil. You may return to your rest.”

  If the girl was surprised by Westley’s presence in Ella’s room, she gave no indication and the house fell silent. Too silent.

  Ella peered at the baby tucked in the major’s other arm. As though sensing her gaze in the darkness, Westley gave her a squeeze. “There, see? He sleeps.”

  “But…the medicine…”

  “He’s had some, and I’ve wrapped the bottle to try to stem the leak. As soon as you are safely settled in bed, I will find another bottle to put it in.”

  “Oh…I….Thank you, Westley.”

  He pulled her against his side, and to her astonishment, placed a kiss on the top of her head before turning her to the bed and gently coaxing her to sit. He leaned down to peer into her face. “Can you hold him for a moment? I am going to get the crib.”

  She reached out her arms. “The crib?”

  He handed Lee over, who did, indeed, sleep. Had the elixir so soon taken effect?

  “Yes. I am going to put it against your bed so that he may sleep close to you, and you will have no fear of him falling from the bed.”

  She’d never thought of doing that, but it certainly made sense. She didn’t reply, and he moved off. In the shadowed light offered from the lamp sitting on her dressing table, Ella watched him walk toward the nursery with an uneven gait. Would he always walk with that limp? She suspected that if he did, it would somehow wound his pride.

  But did he not know that he would be no less formidable even if he spent his days in an invalid’s chair? The man exuded a strength that surpassed that of his sturdy frame and thick build. It went far deeper, and therefore could not be taken from him by a mere injury.

  Westley tapped on the door to the nursery and waited until Basil opened the door. “Um…yes, suh?”

  “Step aside, Basil. I am moving the baby’s crib.”

  Basil moved back out of sight and the major strode through the door without the aid of his cane. Basil said something low that Ella couldn’t make out, but Westley’s words were clear.

  “I can get it on my own. I don’t need a child to help me with lifting.”

  Ella rose to help him, but then thought better of it. He would probably take even less kindly to her offer. Besides, he’d told her to sit here with the baby.

  Marveling that she didn’t chafe at doing as he asked, Ella remained still, watching as Westley maneuvered the piece of furniture through the door and pushed it up against the side of her bed. He straightened, and the sight of him made Ella’s pulse flutter. Never had a man had such an effect on her. Gentle as a lamb one moment and a bull the next.

  He turned and closed the door to the nursery, and Ella rose and walked around to the crib. She laid Lee down gently and rubbed the top of his head. Westley came to stand behind her, his smell of rain and leather tickling her senses as he peered over her shoulder at the child.

  “Lee will be better.”

  Oh, how she wished such assurances could be made true simply by speaking them. “He’s not named for a general, Westley.” The words slipped free of her lips. Foolish, perhaps, but she couldn’t help the need to let him know the true name of the child he had taken such pains to care for.

  A grunt. “Oh?”

  She wiped drying tears from her cheeks. “He’s named Westley Archibald Remington, just as you are.”

  He shifted behind her, searing her heart with his sharp intake of breath. She brought a hand to her mouth. Bampot lass! Why had she thought he would be touched by the declaration? The right to name a firstborn son of his blood with his generational name had been tainted by her stealing it for another. Why had she not thought of that sooner? “I’m sorry. We thought you were dead and to keep the ruse….”

  His hand fell to her shoulder. “I understand.” His words were thick…heavy. As though weighted by something more.

  Ella swallowed, not trusting herself to words. They stood there for several moments, watching Lee sleep.

  “The medicine!” Westley dropped his hand and turned away. “I must see to it.”

  Ella startled, surprised she had let herself wash away in those moments and neglect something of such importance. “Oh, yes! The medicine. Where did you put it? I think I can dump out one of the jars of preserves, and….”

  Westley made a low noise somewhere between a growl and a groan and ground Ella’s words to a halt. “I told you I would take care of it. Why, woman, do you have such a difficult time letting me care for you?”

  Ella’s breathing arrested in her lungs. “I, uh….” She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  He scooped the bottle from where he’d left it on the table by her bed. “You should ready yourself to retire.”

  She nodded.

  He stared at her, as though he expected more.

  “Would you…I mean, if you don’t mind….” The words died on her tongue, unable to breech the defenses of her lips.

  “Yes. I will return the medicine to you before I go to my bed.”

  She clutched the fabric around her throat, but before she could respond, he slipped out of the room, leaving her with the swaying shadows. Ella quickly stripped down to her chemise and then wrapped herself in a dressing gown. Leaving her hair in its pins, she climbed into the bed and sat on top of the coverings. Then, feeling awkward, rose and began to pace.

  Roughly twenty or so more trips around the room later, a small knock came at the door. She slipped past Lee and tugged it open. She stepped back without a word and gestured for the major to enter. She knew he shouldn’t be here, not in the intimacy of night with her in a dressing gown.

  But she didn’t care. Her heart ached and his nearness did something to sooth it…and make it ache in a different way.

  He walked into the room, tension in every hard line of his face. Had she offended him by giving Lee’s true name? Or because she had a difficult time letting him help her? Likely both, along with every other difficulty she had speared him with. She closed the door behind him and traced his movements across the room. Why did he remain so patient with her?

  A Yankee devil no more. She had given him every reason to lash out at her, every right to pepper her with hateful words or even the back of his hand, yet all he did was worry over her and Lee. He took pains to care for them. She pushed the sentiment aside. He was merely being kind, not showing any special affection. She would do well to remember that.

  Westley set a tall crystal object on the dressing table and Ella came closer to look upon it. She recognized it from the day of the storm. She stepped back. “For what have you brought the devil’s juice?”

  He tilted his head. “Beg your pardon?”

  Ella pointed at the decanter. “I’ll not have you with the whisky in here. Best you take it and go.”

  He rocked back on his heels and regarded her. “Why?” The word hung between them, laden with more questions than that small utterance should carry. He leaned closer to her, his disheveled hair falling across his brow. “Do you fear a man’s drink?”

  She crossed her arms. “’Tis the devil’s drink, and it turns even decent men to scallywags.”

  His lips cu
rved in amusement, his cloying nonchalance pricking at her like mother’s sewing needle. “A sip or two at the end of a long day does not a devil make. Most men enjoy brandy with their cigars. There is no harm in it.”

  She hugged herself tighter. “Aye, but one drink leads to another and then more after. And before long, the man is lost and only the drink remains.”

  The ease left his features and the plains of his face tightened. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned closer in the flickering light of the lamp, his dark eyes catching the light and making bits of gold shimmer in their mahogany depths. “I mean what I said. I’d like to know if a man indulged too much in his drink and it brought you to harm.”

  Ella turned away, but his hand rested on her shoulder, not allowing her the chance to flee his words. “I would like for you to trust me, Ella.”

  Had his voice deepened? Tears gathered and slipped down her cheeks.

  His fingers tightened. “Please, I would like to know.”

  Ella drew a ragged breath, and words that would do better to remain locked away sprang free. She hung her head. “Aye. My papa became too fond of the whisky after Mama died. It turned him into a man he was not. A heartless man.”

  She pulled from his grip, and he let her go. She went to the bed and sat. “But you are right. That means nothing for you, and your choice to take the drink. I ask only that you don’t do so in here.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, the light behind him casting a glow around the edges of his hair but shrouding his face in darkness. “It was the only bottle I had.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “I poured out what remained of my father’s good brandy. I rinsed it with water out in the cistern, and I poured the rest of Lee’s medicine in here.”

  “I…oh.” Her shoulders slumped.

  He took a step closer and then hesitated. “I am sorry for your father.”

  She looked up at him, wishing she could better see his face.

  “But I give my word I would never harm you.”

  Such a word wasn’t wise. People often didn’t mean to hurt others, but they always did.

  He took another step. “Do you believe me?”

  “Aye, I do.” The declaration sprang forth against her better judgment, but she realized that despite all experience telling her she only left herself open to pain, it was true.

  He chuckled. “Do you know your voice takes on a different sound when you are tired or angry?”

  She pressed her lips together. Would he now pry into her heritage as well? Why did this man seek to peel back layers of her, searching for things she preferred stay safely tucked away?

  “I find it enchanting, that lilt in your words.”

  Ella blinked. He didn’t mean to degrade her for it? “You do?”

  He stepped closer, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He made a sound deep in his throat that churned something inside her.

  “I don’t think you know what you do to me, woman.”

  In another step he towered over her. She tilted her face up to him. Would he try to kiss her?

  Her heart hammered. She should get up. Move. But she remained planted where she was, her gaze darting from the intensity in his eyes to the fullness of his mouth, and she realized that if he did try to kiss her, she would allow it. Welcome it, even.

  He groaned and cupped her cheek. “Indeed, I don’t think you have a clue.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, and fire erupted in her chest.

  He stepped away, and before she could gather her wits, he stood in the doorway to his room. “If you have any need of help, I will come at your call.” He drew a deep breath. “Good night, my little dragon.”

  Then he closed the door and left her awash in churning emotions and a longing she feared she may never again be free of.

  The light washed over her, drifting upon a languid breeze into every hidden place within her. Ella kept her eyes closed and breathed in the clean air. Fresh, without the taint of either ash or sickness. Pure, as when she’d been….

  Her eyes popped open. Color exploded in her vision, as vibrant and flawless as the last time she’d visited this perfect dream world. Ella breathed deep and ran her hands down the brilliant white gown that once again clothed her. It was so beautiful here, but not complete. Not without….

  She turned her head, and there he was again. He smiled at her, and nothing else seemed to matter. She returned his smile. “I came back.”

  He gestured for her to rest against the velvety tree. “We have more to discuss. Are you ready for it?”

  She hesitated, knowing that whatever he wanted to talk about would likely open up places in her better left alone, places she had covered over with careful attention and locked safely away. What good could it possibly do to open those doors again? She’d worked so hard to forget the shadows and the pain. She’d made of herself a great fortress, a warden with the key.

  The key to her own prison….

  “Do you know how a physician cares for a wound?” he asked, forcing her to abandon her contemplation and focus her attention.

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “I suppose.”

  He rubbed at something in the bend of his wrist, and Ella leaned closer to look at it. A scar? “In order for him to care for the wound properly,” he said, smiling at her as she studied his hand, “he must first open it up, then clean out the infection before he can close it once more.”

  Ella looked away and drew her knees to her chest. She did not want her wounds open and exposed. It was simply too painful.

  “Through the pain comes healing.”

  Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? She looked at him from the corner of her eye and nodded, though only because she didn’t wish to speak on it further.

  “Do you want to be healed, Ella?”

  She stared at him. What an odd question. Who wouldn’t want to be healed? But even as she thought it, she knew the answer. If she fought the healing because she did not want to endure the pain, then the healing would be all the more difficult. She sighed. “Aye. I do.”

  “That is good, then.” He leaned back against the tree and stared out into the field, seeming not to be in any hurry to do more.

  Ella frowned, then decided merely to do as he did. She leaned back and took a deep breath, watching the way the grass swayed like millions of tiny dancers.

  “Who are you?”

  Ella blinked, startled by the words. “You don’t know?”

  He chuckled. “I know every hair on your head, and have numbered them all. I hold every tear in my hand that has fallen from your eyes.”

  Ella plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between her fingers. “Yet, still you ask.”

  He looked out over the field again. “Who are you, Ella?”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”

  “You know, but you have forgotten.”

  The memories she’d seen the last time she came here flashed before her eyes, but didn’t seem to fit. “I am….” Ella plucked another blade of silky grass and tossed it away. “Well, I am not my mother. I was never good enough to replace her. I’m not the boy my father wanted or even the girl he tried to get me to be. I’m not a lady, or really a mother….” Her voice hitched.

  “So you are not the things you do or the titles you strive to achieve?”

  She considered for a moment. “No. But then, if I am not what I do or say, then who am I?”

  “Who, indeed?” He smiled. “Let’s try another way. Who am I?”

  Ella froze. Something wiggled in the back of her mind and she narrowed her eyes.

  “Do you remember?”

  She let her lids drift closed and found herself in another memory. There, somewhere in the far corner was something…something she’d tried to store away. A memory she did not wish to look upon, hidden behind a locked door. Ella walked toward it and paused.

  “In order to hea
l a wound, you must first open it.”

  She clinched her teeth and wrenched open the door. She was in her old farmhouse again. The night her mother died.

  Ella backed away. The door faded and she blinked at the field again. “No. I can’t.”

  He grasped her hand and squeezed, giving her the courage she did not have on her own. She drew a deep breath and upon her exhale came to stand in her mother’s room once more. Ella clutched her white gown and stared at a much younger version of herself crouched by Mama’s bed. Hair wild and dirty face streaked with tears, the child version of herself continued living out the memory as though the current Ella had not walked into the room. The girl cried out, pleading that the wasting disease would not take Mama from her. Ella’s heart constricted as she watched herself cry out for someone to help her.

  Mama’s eyes opened, clearer than they had been in days. “Darling, I will not be here much longer.”

  Ella whimpered. “No, Mama. You can’t go.” The fire in the hearth had long died, and the chill seeped deep into her bones. She tried to tuck the frayed quilt around Mama’s thin frame.

  Mama took a great effort and pulled her hand from the covers so that Ella could grasp the thin bones that were all that remained of the strong hands that had tended her and loved her. Mama rubbed her thumb across the backs of Ella’s fingers. “It is time, my love. He is calling me home.”

  She pressed closer. “Who is, Mama?”

  “Jesus, baby. I am his and he is mine, and it is time for me to go home to him.”

  Ella grabbed the quilt, grasping it so tightly her fingers hurt. “But, Mama….”

  “Shhh.” Mama’s eyes fluttered closed, and it took her a moment before she reopened them. “Remember what I taught you?”

  Mama had tried to teach her many things. How to care for the house, how to bake pies. She’d taught her to make delicate lace and speak like the fine ladies from the life she’d left behind to marry Papa. Mama had taught her many things, but too much remained that she didn’t know. Who would show her how to be a woman?

  “The most important thing, darling.”

  She knew what Mama meant…the thing she’d pointed out as she read the Bible and said prayers over Ella each night before kissing her cheek and telling her good night.